


A Signal Shown and a Distant Voice

by Eisenschrott



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 04:45:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9107137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisenschrott/pseuds/Eisenschrott
Summary: Two overworked Imperial officers meet again after a long time - if only through the comm channel.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bunn1cula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunn1cula/gifts).



> A little sequel to Bunn1cula's [_Empire Day_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5779498). The backstory and the lovely Captain Feste both belong to them.

Ugly, thought Captain Lorth Needa as the skeleton of the ‘orbital energy station’ filled the viewport. It bore an uncanny resemblance to a jogan fruit core floating in the void.

Needa rose from his bunk and squinted through the space-proof transparisteel. _Orbital energy station_. He snorted. That name could only fool the furry carnivorous critters that inhabited the forest moon down below. A trained eye could easily guess the structure was a superlaser. It wouldn’t have fooled any gunner on the _Avenger_.

A cold shard of doubt prickled his mind—what if even one of them spoke with the loose lips that sank starships, as the propaganda slogan went?

Needa shook the thought away. He trusted the Vengie, he trusted her crew, and sadly, he trusted the fear that Lord Vader inspired in every crewmember of Death Squadron. No Vengie lad or lass would speak a word of the jogan fruit core floating over the Forest Moon of Endor.

He checked the chrono at his wrist. A few standard hours until he had to be on the bridge and oversee the departure operations. He wouldn’t have minded stripping out of his uniform, worn all day long and too full of his own smell for comfort, and catching up on some sleep, but this place was dangerous and the mission delicate; a billion things could go wrong in the blink of an eye, and he didn’t want to be caught unprepared.

The convoy the Vengie had been sent to escort had arrived safe and sound—of course it had; Needa puffed up his chest and ran a hand over the durasteel wall. _Good girl_.

They would leave to rendezvous with the _Executor_ come the next rotation. There hadn’t been the time to visit Commander Jerjerrod on the… the orbital energy station. And Jerjerrod had declined Needa’s polite invitation to come over for dinner on the _Avenger_ —not in the mess hall but in the captain’s quarters. His face in the flickering hologram was that of a kicked puppy. It had worried Needa. Jerjerrod wasn’t anywhere near so worn-out, that night they’d first met at the Empire Day feast over Coruscant; well, after they had engaged in that blasterfight in Needa’s quarters he _had_ been worn-out, and slept like a happy loth-cat. The good kind of worn-out.

His eyes returned to the viewport. He was ready to bet the Banking Clan’s entire fortune Jerjerrod was awake. Either up early, or working late through the night. Needa hoped it was the former case.

He walked to the comm station, sat down at the desk and dialled for the classified channel to Commander Jerjerrod’s quarters—setting the scrambler on, of course. The comm beeped into the dark void. Needa found himself holding his breath.

A male voice he didn’t recognise, with an Outer Rim twang it didn’t bother to hide, picked up the call. “ _Avenger_ , this is Captain Feste. You have tried to reach Moff Jerjerrod’s quarters.”

“That I have, Captain,” said Needa a bit testily.

The other officer was silent for a moment. “Who is there?”

He identified himself as the _Avenger_ ’s captain; Feste was silent for a few seconds again. “Patching you through right away,” he said at last in a lower voice, between conspiratorial and sardonic. “You’re lucky he doesn’t get any sleep these days.”

“Does he?” Needa could stop neither his tongue nor his concern.

“Try and tell him it’s bad for his health, Captain. The Force knows,” it was almost a dare, “maybe he’ll listen to you.”

Static filled the channel for a few moments as the frequency changed. _Beep, beep, beep…_ On and on. Needa propped his elbows on the back of the chair. A surprisingly heavy lump of dismay weighed deep inside his chest. Ridiculous, he told himself; this wasn’t a rejection, the Moff must be asleep, and it would only do him good if that were the case.

A snappish, cracking voice cut the _beep_ in a half. “Jerjerrod. Don’t you all have anything else to do than interrupting my work?”

Needa grabbed onto the chair as if to steady himself against a slap. Then he smiled, even if the comm was audio only. “I sympathise with the feeling, Commander. Every ship captain in Death Squadron would.”

Jerjerrod made a spluttering noise. “Lorth?”

His grin widened and his heart beat faster at hearing Jerjerrod call his name. “Guilty as charged, Tiaan.”

“Sithspit.” A rustle of flimsiplast. “I’m so sorry, I… You’re angry about the dinner, aren’t you? Look, I really wished I could come but—”

“No no, it’s alright, I understand you’re busy…” It took him a moment to realise the next noise he heard Jerjerrod make was a yawn.

“You have no idea, Lorth.”

Needa could picture the rueful expression on Jerjerrod’s face, the web of new wrinkles marring his skin.

“You should see my desk now,” Jerjerrod went on, doing his best to sound jocular. “I could barely find the comm button under all this damned bumf.”

“Oh, my.” Needa eased himself into the chair and rocked back on it, spreading his legs comfortably. “I can picture it awful clear. And…”

“Yes?”

Perhaps it was his imagination. But his instinct and experience were seldom wrong in recognising that tremble of anticipation in a voice. Like every brave Navy man would do, Needa seized the chance. “I can picture you pushing me down flat on it.”

Jerjerrod exhaled loudly. “Bloody hell,” he whispered.

Needa cursed himself and his excess of boldness. _One of these days you’re going to fly a Venator through a darned black hole_ , his flight instructor used to tell him.

“So many piles of datapads crashing to the ground would make a lot of noise,” explained Jerjerrod. “Attract unwanted attention, you know. I’d have to comm my aide and tell him I am not to be disturbed, for no reason in the galaxy.”

“He sounds like a smart man, he’ll understand.”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

“You’re wearing your uniform, aren’t you?”

Needa jabbed a finger under the collar of his tunic, loosening it a little. “I’m an early mynock, too.”

It was no great witticism at all, but Jerjerrod chuckled bashfully. “Damn. I… I shouldn’t find this vision so enticing, should I? I throw your cap to the floor and pin your arms above your head.”

“For the sake of an accurate portrayal,” Needa interjected gently, running a palm over his short hair, “I’ve gone a bit more silver there since last time.”

“I love it.”

“Flatterer.”

“And you still have such nice lips.” His voice had dropped to a murmur. Oh, _this_ was nice—but the officer of the watch in perpetual service inside Needa’s brain feared the microphone wouldn’t pick it up if it got lower yet.

“Kiss me, Tiaan.” Half an order, half a plea.

Silence. “Not yet, Captain. Don’t forget your place.”

“Apologies, sir.” So, the engineering geek of the Joint Chiefs council could damn well talk like a Moff, when he wanted to. Excellent.

“The front of your uniform. I’m slipping my left hand in there.”

Needa unfastened the shoulder snap, making sure to open it with as loud a click as it was possible; ironic, since throughout most of his career he’d had to undo the damn thing so that it would be as quiet as possible.

“You guide me now. Tell me what…” Jerjerrod swallowed. “…what I’m touching.”

“My neck. Squeezing very, very softly.” He grinned, remembered Jerjerrod couldn’t see him and might be gaping in sudden shock, and laughed to ease the possible tension. “You pervert!”

Jerjerrod whimpered.

“I’m playing with the buttons of my shirt now.” One off, the second, the third; hair stood on his gradually bared chest. “And you’re kissing along as more skin lies exposed.”

Louder whimpering. _You couldn’t make that sound while you’re kissing_ , Needa thought.

“What… what cologne are you wearing?”

“I’m so happy you asked this question.” And so was Needa’s groin, out of some chemical mystery. “Nlorna flower perfume.”

Jerjerrod sucked in a ragged breath. He must have started priming the blaster cannon, Needa guessed. “I take it that you like the scent?” he trilled.

“They grow those flowers in the hills around Val Denn, did you know? Square kilometres after… after square kilometres of nlorna shrubs in bloom. They’re blue.” Jerjerrod’s voice was deeper and warmer, with a tremor of incipient weeping. “You smell like home.”

“Do you like it?”

He had started panting. “Pull up your shirt.”

Needa obeyed, running his fingertips over his proudly flat abdomen. “You’re going lower. Unzipping my trousers now.”

Jerjerrod broke into a wheezing titter. “Lower, eh? Do you have your boots on, or just socks?”

A shiver crackled down Needa’s back, all the way down to his crotch, and he accentuated it with a pleased groan. “My boots—”

The rest of the sentence drowned in the screech of a second comm.

Needa jumped on the chair and Jerjerrod cried out, “Oh, sodding hell, what—!” He cleared his throat in-between curses, then opened the channel, “Jerjerrod here. Captain Feste, couldn’t you tell I was busy?”

“Truly hate to interrupt you gentlemen,” the aide spoke with less bonhomie than in the earlier conversation, “but a fire has broken out in—”

“Sweet stars, not the primary power amplifier!”

“Aye, Commander, that bitch. Forgive my Coruscanti, Captain Needa.”

“Shit!” growled Jerjerrod.

So the floating jogan fruit core _was_ a superlaser, beyond all doubt. Needa shifted on his seat. Shit, indeed. He felt awkward, forced to be privy to things he had no wish of knowing.

“…I’ve sent fire containment squads and sealed the area,” Feste was saying.

“Good. Tell the deck officer I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

 _Beep_. That comm was closed.

Jerjerrod let out a drawn-out, long-suffering sigh. “I’m so sorry.”

“Go. Duty first.”

“Lorth—”

“No hard feelings. I would do the same.”

“Thank you. For everything.”

Needa lowered his voice one last time, “I’m leaning over to speak into your ear.” He paused, then whispered, “ _I love you_. Then I bite your earlobe.”

Jerjerrod hissed. “Oh, blast it. Goodbye, Captain. Hurry up finding the Rebel base and winning the war, so I can go home and we may—”

_beep beep beep_

“…Fuck!”

Needa shut the comm and slumped back on the chair sighing, his hands clasped behind his head.

An idea struck him and he commed the wing command of the _Avenger_ ’s TIE fighter complement. Within minutes, which he took advantage of to take off his cologne-soaked shirt and fold it into a parcel, a sleepy-voiced flight officer was roused from her bunk and patched through to him. “Lieutenant Andrashi here, Cap’n, sir. Awaitin’ orders.”

He couldn’t help a little smile at the parcel under his arm. “Lieutenant, you have...” A glance at his chrono. “Two standard hours and forty-six minutes to fly to the orbital energy station, deliver a strictly confidential package for Commander Jerjerrod to be opened by him and him alone, and fly back here before the _Avenger_ makes the jump. Are you up to the task?”

“Yessir!”

The Force bless coffin jockeys with an easily stirred professional pride. But he added an extra incentive, “Good. Prize weekend pass if you _personally make sure_ the package is handed over to either Jerjerrod or his aide, Captain Feste.”

“Consider it done ‘n done, sir!”


End file.
